


The Memory of Magic

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, The Worst Witch Winter Warmers 2019, night market, week one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Hecate takes Ada to a place from her past and relives one of her most magical childhood memories.The Worst Witch Winter Warmers. Week One Prompt: Winter Markets.
Relationships: Amelia Cackle | Ada Cackle/Hardbroom, Hackle - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: The Worst Witch Winter Warmers 2019





	The Memory of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Technically happening in the same universe as the Hackle Summer Trope series, Finding Joy. It's not necessary to have read that series to understand this story, but if you have, this takes place just a few weeks after that series ends.

There is a rather surprising personality trait about Hecate Hardbroom, to which Ada Cackle is delightfully privy: Hecate is, quite adorably, deeply nostalgic.

While she is not a particularly festive person, she still holds tightly to the warmer memories she has surrounding this time of year—memories she has made with Ada, and even a few made before the woman’s appearance in her life.

Another wonderful personality trait is that when Hecate Hardbroom experiences something pleasant or at least mildly interesting, she often feels a need to share such experience, usually with her wife.

Ada has seen this particular trait in action more frequently, since the summer. Since Hecate finally allowed her to lift the confinement spell. During summer half-term, they’d taken a trip away to celebrate. After their return, Hecate went out a few times for drinks with Dimity or to amusedly watch Ada rifle through the stacks of new romance novels at the local bookshop. A few times, she’d gone alone as well. And sometimes, after those solo excursions, she’d ask Ada to join her for a return trip, perhaps a weekend or so later. Then she’d take Ada’s hand and lead her through an alleyway with ornately beautiful black metalwork, or bring a picnic to share in a peaceful corner of the park, or find a table a cozy little tea shop. During those times, Ada knew that Hecate was wanting to simply share something she’d seen on her previous solo round, something she’d enjoyed, something that was pleasing in some way. Little gifts, quietly and tenderly wrapped up like Ada’s hand in hers.

This is another such time, Ada knows. Though this time, things are a little different.

For starters, they are not in the village that rests just at the edge of Cackle’s magical borders—no, they have flown quite a distance to this particular little town, bustling with nonmagical people and bedecked in holiday finery. The picturesque lamps wear bright red velvet bows twice the size of Ada’s head, and most of the shop fronts boast garlands and wreaths. Poinsettias are on every street corner, and people smile and greet each other on the street. Everyone is wearing long coats and scarves and ear muffs. It’s like something out of a Christmas tale.

Secondly, Hecate isn’t as languid as she normally is during these excursions. She still holds Ada’s hand, but she’s charging forward, two steps ahead, shoulders tight and spine ramrod, head swiveling back and forth as if searching for something. As usual, they’d chosen less conspicuous clothing for their venture into the non-witching world, and Ada is rather glad of it—her wife looks a bit like something out of a sweeping Russian romance novel, with her low chignon and black fur-trimmed pillbox hat, stray whisps of hair fluttering around her face and the decidedly-freezing air pushing a blush into her cheeks. The only issue with this image is Hecate’s worried expression, wide eyes and thin-set mouth, the tell-tale hollow of her cheek—she only chews the inside of her cheek when particularly perplexed and frustrated, or both.

Ada pulls back slightly, garnering her wife’s attention long enough to offer a reassuring smile. She doesn’t ask the question on her mind: _What is it? What’s wrong?_ Not because she isn’t curious, but because she knows Hecate won’t tell her anyways.

_It’s a surprise_ , Hecate had informed her, before they left for the evening. She’d told Ada the dress code—and that it was outdoors. That was all. Ada knows that even now, Hecate won’t tell her a single detail more.

Not that she minds, truly. It’s always worth the wait, with this one.

Still, Hecate easily senses the unspoken question, because she speaks, her voice low and distracted as her eyes continue to dart around, “There used to be…it’s been years, since…”

This confirms Ada’s suspicion that they are revisiting a site from Hecate’s past. That somewhere in this foreign little place is something deeply familiar that Hecate wishes to share with her.

Hecate huffs, realizes how foolish she’s been. It has been years since she’s been here, and goddess, who knows how much has changed since then? She used to know these streets like the back of her hand, but how much have they shifted, in the last thirty years?

Then she hears it—the first strains of music, distant and disjointed, a band warming up. She swivels slightly, trying to track the sound.

“That way, I think,” Ada points to their right. Hecate nods in agreement and Ada beams up at her again, taking a moment to brush back the fluttering fringe of her blush-pink fur cap out of her beautiful blue eyes. Hecate smiles, that familiar feeling pressing hard and fast into her chest, expanding beyond the confines of her lungs.

She wants to wait, just a moment. To remember the tilt of Ada’s chin and the shocking blueness of her eyes and the way her cheeks are rosy from the wind. To tell her how lovely she looks right now, how breathtaking she is, when she’s simply happy, simply herself. To kiss her, hard and hot and fast, right here in the middle of the snowy street.

Instead, she simply squeezes Ada’s hand through the thickness of their separate gloves, fingers tightening in affection and happiness of her own.

Ada pulls her slightly forward again, smiling because she’s understood what Hecate doesn’t say, and off they go, following the sound of music.

Hecate looks up at the skyline and feels the corners of her mouth tug into a grin. Yes, she was right. It’s still here. Even now, the dark outline of a tree is easily seen over the top of the next building. She doubles her pace, slowing again slightly as she realizes Ada can’t keep up nearly as easily—certainly not in her thick woolen tights and layers of skirt and sweater and calf-length coat.

They have time to walk now, Hecate thinks. The worry disappears. She glances over at her wife, her smile renewing at the way Ada looks ahead expectantly, aware of the energy pulsing just a block over—all they have to do is cut through a single little brick-lined alleyway and they’ll be there.

Hecate lets go of Ada’s hand, just long enough to loop her arm through Ada’s. It’s alright, now. They can be blindingly obvious, out here, away from anyone who might know them. Ada’s fingers curl against her bicep, and even through all the layers, she feels the intensity of her wife’s touch.

They’re halfway through the alleyway when Ada looks up and sees the string of lights overhead, zigzagging their way towards the other side. She gives a soft little _oh_ of delight and Hecate’s cheeks twinge from smiling so hard. The lights are reflecting off her glasses and the corner of her mouth is curling slightly into a gentle smile and Hecate wants to kiss her, exactly there, so she does. Her lips are cold and chapped but Ada’s skin still feels warm, somehow, and Hecate thinks about tracing the edge of that smile with her tongue, turning Ada’s head to easily slip further into her mouth—but she doesn’t. She practices restraint. Not because she has to, but because she wants to. She wants to keep moving forward, to finally show Ada the surprise.

The sound of a crowd begins to build, along with the strains of the music, as they approach the end of the alleyway. Then they’re stepping through into a scene straight from a fairytale.

A few yards away is the village green, small but still beautifully adorned in holiday cheer—the little picket fence garlanded with pine and ribbon, much like the white gazebo, currently housing the band whose music had been their beacon. At the other end of the green stands an outrageously tall tree, unlit but bedecked with hundreds of ornaments, looming over them all like a shadow.

The streets they’d walked on before had been paved in the modern way—but the section circling the green is still all cobblestone, wonderfully preserved. And all around the cobblestone loop are carts and booths, offering everything from soaps to cookies to exotic vacations to homemade jams. All the carts and booths are festooned in ribbons and lights and holiday cheer, some so ridiculously overwrought that Ada knows the look of this place is certainly more her aesthetic than her wife's.

Ada glances up at Hecate to exclaim her delight—but her throat catches at the sight of Hecate, looking over the scene herself with shining eyes.

Sensing Ada’s attention, Hecate finally explains, “Before—before I was caught—”

Before she was caught and confined, Ada knows. She simply rubs her wife’s arm comfortingly as Hecate takes a moment to steady herself.

“I used to sneak out when I was home for half-term, too,” Hecate smiles slightly at the memory. She’s long forgiven that wild and reckless little thing she once was, that endlessly curious girl who just wanted to feel like for once, _invisible_ and _set apart_ were exactly how she was supposed to feel, exactly how she was supposed to be. She can look back on her with kindness—and yes, even love—now. “This was the closest nonmagical place. I only got to see the winter night market once. But it was—”

_Magical_ is the word she wants to use. Though it seems a bit silly now. She’s spent her whole life in magic—this isn’t anything of the sort. Still, she pushes herself to be truthful, to be vulnerable to Ada, who’s seen her in far more foolish states and has yet to bat an eye. “It was absolutely magical.”

“It still is,” Ada confirms with a smile, looking over the hustle and bustle again. There’s joy radiating from every corner of the square, lights and sounds and movement as children slip through the crowds carrying sweets or mugs of hot chocolate. She imagines seeing this as a young girl—Hecate couldn’t have been more than twelve, when she’d last been here—coming from a place where holidays were celebrated with somber tones and dimly lit gatherings, devoid of color or chaos. Yes, it must have seemed more magical than any holiday affair little Joy had ever witnessed.

Hecate smirks at the way Ada’s eyes follow someone’s hot chocolate. Ada catches the look and merely grins, knowing her wife won’t deny the unspoken request. Hecate flicks her eyes heavenwards as she moves forward, now on the hunt for the hot chocolate vendor.

Twenty minutes later, Ada’s hands are wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate which somehow bears the crescent-moon of Hecate’s lipstick on the rim as well, and Hecate is holding the handle of a handwoven basket, now filled with a collection of jams and a small, rather sad looking poinsettia that Ada had been nearly reduced to tears over (and oh, how she beamed when Hecate informed the florist that she wanted that plant in particular, knowing full well that Hecate would nurse it back to full health for her, simply because she loved Ada). Hecate has slowly guided her wife towards the green, where they now stand, watching a children’s bell choir perform on the gazebo. Ada is delighted at the children—the oldest can’t be a day over eight, all much younger than the girls they get to teach at home. Despite their adorably concentrated faces, their timing and ability to control the exact stopping and starting of their bells are horribly off. There is one cherubic-faced devil who simply slams the bell the entire time, beaming at the ability to make a ruckus, though mysteriously the bell somehow stops working halfway through the song.

Ada looks knowingly up at her wife, who keeps her gaze focused dead ahead. Still, she murmurs, out the corner of her mouth, “It’s not fair to the others, who are _trying_ , at least.”

The song ends and everyone cheers loudly—and yes, even Miss Hardbroom sets down her basket to clap, albeit much more reservedly than her cheering wife. Then the local councilman informs everyone that for just a moment, the streetlamps are going to dim.

As they do, everyone turns expectantly towards the large tree at the end of the green. Hecate shifts slightly, stepping back to allow Ada a better view, her arm slipping easily around her wife’s waist as they both look up in anticipation. More lights around them dim and silence grows with the darkness.

Then, a burst of light. The tree sparkles and the crowd _oohs_ and _aahs_ in response. Next to them, a baby is clapping in delight as its parents laugh at its joy. Kids dart through the crowd and the band starts up a familiar carol.

“It is _absolutely_ magical,” Ada quietly decrees, echoing Hecate’s memory from earlier. It’s far too loud to actually hear it, but she somehow senses Hecate’s hum of agreement in response. Ada snuggles in closer, feeling a bubble of delight in her chest at how easily Hecate counters by simply tightening her grip around Ada’s waist. Hecate turns her head, and though Ada can’t feel it through the fuzzy thickness of her fur cap, she knows her wife has placed a kiss atop her head.

This is what Hecate had wanted to share the most, Ada realizes. This strange feeling of magic, where no true magic exists at all. The magic of happiness, of joy, of community. The bubbly beauty of shiny, pretty things twinkling in the night, illuminating the darkness and somehow driving out the cold.

She realizes that _this_ was probably what had fascinated young Joy—the idea that these people, these nonmagical people, these oblivious, perfectly ordinary people, could be capable of inducing a wonder and sense of enchantment that Joy had never seen or felt in her own very magical world. She feels a small measure of comfort in knowing that in the many years since, Hecate has found those things in her own world, has found a way to be seen and understood and loved, has made many more memories filled with this kind of wonder.

And yet, she still wanted to share _this_ —this particular kind of memory and magic—with Ada. She could have told her wife a story, could have stayed in the warm comfort of their own bed, their own home—but no, she’d chosen to let Ada truly experience it for herself.

“You’re rather wonderful, you know that?” Ada shifts away slightly, so that she can get a better view of her wife’s face.

“Hmm?” Hecate obviously didn’t hear all of it, her brows quirking downward in confusion, barely visible under the line of her hat’s fur trim. The tip of her nose is beginning to go red, much like the rims of her eyes and she’s still the most beautiful thing Ada’s ever seen.

Ada simply grabs the lapel of Hecate’s thick black coat and pulls her down into a kiss. Hecate twitters slightly, pulling away to remind her, “Don’t spill your chocolate!”

It’s a ridiculous thing to worry about, and yet, so endearingly Hecate. Ada laughs, though she’d safely kept the chocolate at literal arm’s length with her other hand. She’s still firmly holding on to Hecate’s coat, and Hecate’s still leaning closer in.

“Thank you,” Ada says sweetly, beaming anew. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“Of course,” Hecate merely blinks, as if this was something she’d planned to do for ages—and knowing her, she probably had.

Ada can sense someone approaching, so she relinquishes her hold on the lapel, turning curiously to the oncoming stranger, who’s smiling benignly in their direction.

“Good evening, ladies.” The twinkle in her eye is a clear sign that she witnessed quite a bit of their little exchange and was fully aware of their connection to each other. “Would you like to make a donation to our children’s choir and receive an ornament to put on the tree?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Ada replies, grinning again at the memory of the adorable little bell ringers. They’re given a flat wooden ornament, hand-painted by one of the children, and a sharpie marker to inscribe their names. The stranger helpfully supplies a clipboard for a better writing surface, and soon Hecate has neatly placed their initials upon the back (no small feat, whilst wearing gloves), handing the clipboard and marker back with a slight nod of thanks.

“Shall we?” Ada arches her brows in playful questioning. Hecate takes her arm and grabs their basket, and they make their way through the throng of people milling about. They look for a spot on the tree to place their ornament—finally choosing something on the opposite side of the tree. Ada grins breathlessly at the way Hecate’s hand slips further down the curve of her ass as she barely pretends to help her wife.

The hot chocolate is finished and they slowly make their way back down the alley, as if taking a portal back to another world. They walk for a few more blocks, simply chatting about the evening, before finding a secluded corner to raise their invisibility spells once again and summon their brooms.

One of Ada’s favorite things about these little excursions is that Hecate never asks if Ada liked it. Because she knows—she knows before she even takes Ada to wherever they’re going. She knows Ada, knows what delights her, knows all the ways they’re similar and how the things that interest her will often do the same to Ada. There’s a comfort in the familiarity.

Still, Ada wants to reassure her, this time. Maybe because this time, it isn’t an experience from her recent past. Maybe because this time, it isn’t quite Hecate who chose this adventure, but rather Joy. Maybe because this time, this isn’t something Hecate saw and thought Ada would like, but rather something Hecate wanted to re-experience for herself, for once. And maybe because, more than anything, Ada wants there to always be moments of Hecate’s childhood that she can look upon with love and light.

So she walks over to her wife, who has now vanished the basket of goodies and plants. She vanishes her own gloves, unable to stop her smile at the way Hecate’s eyes flare at the action, mouth already opening to reprimand her—but Hecate’s words never come, because she’s slightly shocked by the warmth of Ada’s fingertips, sliding up her wrists, pushing up her sleeve cuff to circle around bare skin with a weighted squeeze.

Ada rises up on her tip toes, though it’s not necessary. Hecate’s already leaning in, gladly meeting her halfway in a kiss. Ada can feel the ripple in tendons of Hecate’s wrists, knows her wife’s expressive hands are flexing and curling in delight, and her blood warms at the thought of those hands moving in other ways, in other places. Still, she holds on tight, deepening the kiss and smiling at the way Hecate sighs into her mouth, the breath pushing into an almost-moan. Ada pulls away, just enough for their lips to part, as she reiterates, “This was absolutely lovely, darling.”

“I’m—” Hecate’s voice catches. Her eyes are still closed and Ada suspects that if her wife were to open her eyes, there would be tears. “I’m glad.”

It's a double-edged statement, Ada knows. Hecate is both relieved that Ada enjoyed the evening as much as she'd hoped, and quite simply, she's also just glad. Happy. Content. Filled with this strange and sweet nonmagical magic.

“We could do this again next year. If you’d like,” Ada keeps her voice soft, keeps her tone neutral. She won’t push, won’t ask Hecate to do anything she doesn’t want.

“I would,” Hecate concedes with a small nod. Her eyes still haven’t opened. It’s snowing again, light and barely visible—but the snowflakes show up easily on her dark lashes. Ada nuzzles their noses together, stroking her thumbs over the pulse points of Hecate’s wrists. Hecate takes a breath, takes a beat, and then finally opens her eyes. The redness around them isn’t from the sharpness of the cold wind, Ada knows. She’s smiling sweetly at Ada, tilting her head slightly in unspoken adoration.

“Let’s go home,” she announces quietly. Ada nods in agreement, finally releasing her tender grip.

“Gloves,” Hecate reminds her, almost immediately. Ada laughs, a single, quick sound, shaking her head as she moves back to her broom, holding up her hands so that her wife can see the gloves magically reappear.

Once they’re airborne, Hecate takes one last look over her shoulder, towards the now-shining tree. It was just as magical as she had remembered it being, all those years ago. And this time, she got to be a part of it. To be seen. That is something she hadn’t even dreamed of, even in her wildest days as a child. She scrawled their initials on that atrociously painted little ornament and Ada hung it up for all the world to see. And nothing bad had happened, no punishment had rained down from above. She hadn’t been alone, hadn’t been set apart or invisible.

She had simply been. And it had been simply magical.

**Author's Note:**

> Also...someone else (maybe agapi42?) put forth a cute little headcanon in the Hackle Drabble Tree that Ada often "rescued" plants for Hecate to revive, and I adored the idea and used it a bit here as well.


End file.
